


Eight Views of Southtown

by MarsDragon



Category: Fatal Fury
Genre: Embedded Images, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-19 19:09:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20214802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarsDragon/pseuds/MarsDragon
Summary: A collection of eight works, each focusing on one theme, as applied to Southtown.





	1. Night Rain

_July 1992_

The air hung thick and heavy in the small room, despite the sliding doors flung open to the night air. The sky glowed a dim and unhealthy color, dark with rain under the reflected city lights. The storm still refused to break.

Inside, an old man mixed a fine powder into the tea kettle before pouring two cups, each with a generous helping of honey. He handed one to the man sitting across from him, then sipped at his own.

"I didn't know you liked tea," Tung Fu Rue said. He drank his slowly; the night was hot.

"I don't! Awful stuff." Lee Pai Long took another sip with a theatrical grimace. "But seeing as you've been so kind as to open your humble doors to me, I can't complain about your terrible taste in drinks."

"Mm. Well, thank you for the medicine. It's the only thing that keeps the damp out these days." Tung's head bowed as a wet breeze gusted through the room, barely alleviating the heat. The cup trembled, but he set it down precisely. "Time is the one enemy that cannot be defeated."

"It's nothing, my old bones creak with all this damp too. Someday I really have to invent that elixir of immortality."

Tung raised an eyebrow. "They say you're only as old as you feel. Doesn't that mean you're forever young?"

"And you're old before your time, kee kee kee!" Lee slapped his hand on the floor, laughing at his own joke. He set his own cup down, and when he raised his head to meet his old friend's eyes there was no humour left in his expression. "So, you're really going to enter the tournament, huh."

"This is the first time Geese has allowed himself to become vulnerable in over ten years." Tung looked at his tea as if reading the past in its depths. "He's my disciple. Therefore, I must be the one to put an end to his bloodlust. And..." He closed his eyes, the last decade showing more on his face than the previous five put together. "I already lost Jeff. How can I risk my grandchildren as well? I wasn't strong enough then to teach them what they needed...I cannot allow them to die for that weakness." 

Outside, nature grew tired of waiting, and rain poured in sheets over the dusty stones of the practice yard. 

"Noble to the end." Lee said, and raised his cup in salute. 

"There's nothing noble about killing," Tung replied.

The faint clink of earthenware was barely audible under the drumming of the storm. They both drank, Lee in gulps, Tung more carefully. 

Honey wasn't enough to mask the bitter taste of responsibility.


	2. Autumn Moon

_October 1994_

The evening breeze was cool on Mary's face as she stepped out of the bar, but only by contrast. Summer had faded, but heat never really left.

Two drinks. She could feel them in the swing of her legs, even if her steps were as steady as ever. She wondered what it would be like to have more - three drinks? Four? - even as she leaned against a railing and waited to sober up. 

The moon was bright and full, painting the gaps between the streetlights icy silver. A Harvest Moon? Hunter's Moon? Mary recalled someone telling her all of them once, but that had been a long time ago. The moon didn't mind either way. It hung over the world, untouched and untouchable, always the same. It shone just like it had last year, when she and Butch had wandered across the Great Plains - 

Mary closed her eyes and waited for sharp pain to fade into the usual ache. Maybe she should go get those extra drinks. Find someone to spend the night with - fighting or fucking, they were basically the same thing - then wake up to do it all over again because at least it kept her from the the lonely walk home...

But Anton needed walking, and she was meeting a new client tomorrow, and living only for the present was a wonderfully romantic idea until you were doing it. She couldn't help a bitter chuckle. Too responsible to self-destruct properly. That was her all right.

She'd wasted enough time here. Most of the buzz had faded from her head, and so she left her gloomy thoughts with the railing and went to find her Harley. 

The moon shone on, uncaring.


	3. Returning Sails

_February 1995_

Temjin squinted through the camera's viewfinder, moved a bit to the left, and checked again.

_Click_

A gull froze in place, caught flying eternally over a sailboat returning to shore, both framed by the brand-new unloading equipment that had popped up in the past decade. Temjin carefully cranked to the next negative according to the long-ago instructions of a patient teacher and looked around for the next photo opportunity. 

A voice called out over the noise of the docks. "Whoa - Principal Temjin! That really you? What're you doing here?" 

Temjin turned to see a large man in a bright vest and hardhat jogging up to him. He searched his memory for the familiar face. "...Johnny Miller?"

"Wow! Right on the money!" The man laughed and scratched his head. "Can't believe you actually remember me, it's been years."

"It's a teacher's duty to never forget a student!" Temjin puffed himself up, then let go with an easy grin. "I'm goin' back to Mongolia to see my family, so I came by here to show 'em where I used to work. But the port's changed so much, I almost didn't recognize it!" They both laughed.

"Hahah, yeah! It's slowed down a bit lately, but things have changed a lot since the bad old days. More money, more opportunities, more everything." Miller scuffed his feet and looked away. "...you know, I really owe you an apology. I used to be the worst little brat, made fun of your hair and stuff, but... Look, you stood outside the gate and said good morning to us every day anyway, and that one time I played hooky for a week you actually asked me where'd I'd been and if I was sick after my dad beat my ass and made me go back. It was the first time an adult had ever bothered to remember me. ...anyway, it meant a lot to me and your school is probably why I am where I am today. So, well, uh, thanks."

"Ha! That foreman's badge is enough thanks for me," Temjin said and patted Miller on the shoulder. "I just wanted to give those hungry kids I saw a chance. You all did the rest." 

"You changed this city. You and Geese Howard, you're the ones that made it somewhere worth living." 

It was Temjin's turn to look away, towards the wide ocean. "...I never would've gotten the cash to start the school without him, that's true," he allowed. It had come with strings, of course. But hundreds of children had learned to read and write on the Howard Connection's (blood-soaked, tax-free) donations.

"He's why the port was so successful. I don't know what we're gonna do now that he's gone."

They stood side by side in silence after that, surrounded by the noise of men and machines. A big freighter was coming in, and it cast the sound of its homecoming in waves over the dock. 

Miller turned back to Temjin and grinned. "Hey, you know I got access to one of the big cranes? Want me to take your camera and get your family a nice city shot? There's a great view from up there!"


	4. Night Bell

_August 1995_

"Remember, keep calm and keep the pressure on. This guy's a newbie, you've cleaned a dozen of him off the mats." Pat slapped Franco's back with a solid crack that made no impression on the kickboxer. "Don't make Junior and Emilia cry at your first match in six years."

The sun was setting and the other half of Southtown - the half that never quite went away, no matter who ran the city - was waking up. Bright lights swung over the ring, and the small arena was filled with the scent of sweat, blood, and excitement. The legendary king of kick had returned, and the crowd was always ready to cheer a comeback - or enjoy a fall. 

The opponent was a young man built like an ox, with a hungry gleam in his eye. He knew Franco's record as champ. He also knew the difference between being the super heavyweight champion and a has-been. Legends were made to die.

But even in Southtown, there was a difference between the ring and the street. The opponent only knew one. Franco had been forced to learn both. The former champion's eyes were dark as he stepped up, and he could only spare one glance for the woman and child in the front row. 

The pair faced each other. The roar of the crowd surged and spilled out onto the dim streets.

The bell rang.


	5. Evening Snow

_September 1995_

The dying sunlight poured down the buildings like syrup, sticking to the tops and slowly sliding to the ground. Chonshu and Chonrei walked between them, flashing from bright, golden sun to dim shadow and back again, over and over. It was the last days of summer: after the scrolls, after the tournament, after Geese.

"You're really going, huh," Chonrei said.

"Yeah," Chonshu replied, taking another bite of his snowcone. It was cool and sweet and tasted nothing like the fruit the flavoring was said to imitate. "I like Taekwondo, and Mr. Kim's more all right than I thought. And it'll be fun to see Korea."

Chonrei grunted in response. Chonshu raised an eyebrow. "What are you getting mad about? You're leaving too."

"Thought you'd be coming with me." Chonrei took a big bite from his snowcone and crunched it between his teeth. "You're even giving up our Imperial Fist-"

"So?" Chonshu interrupted. "You're going off with Master Tung to get away from it too! I'm sick- We're both sick of blacking out!"

There was a pause, the kind that comes after saying something that can't be unsaid. The sound of distant surf hung in the air, mixed with laughter and conversation. It was a popular evening for a walk.

They'd come to a small lookout over the beach, and Chonrei thumped down onto the bench with a sigh. Chonshu joined him, sitting awkwardly on the other edge. He poked at the half-melted remains of his snowcone. It didn't seem appetizing all of a sudden.

"...we've never been apart before," Chonrei said. He didn't look at Chonshu.

"Nope." 

"You're...really growing up."

"We're the same age," Chonshu said, slightly peevish. "I should be more worried about sending you off to a mountain backwater with just some old grandpa. At least Seoul's a real city."

Chonrei didn't reply to that. He just sat there and watched the beach slide from gold to blue-dusted white. His snowcone sat forgotten beside him. 

"You'll write, won't you?" he said.

"Of course."

"Every week."

"As long as you write back."

"Deal."

Above them, the pale blue sky shaded to purple as the light faded. Summer was over.


	6. Clearing Weather

_June 1995_

The daily rain poured down in sheets, making pedestrians dash for cover. Sokaku walked on, unconcerned. His sugegasa was more than adequate for the weather, and for what rain still spilled down the gaps in his clothes, well...there were worse things than being wet. He held a number of them in check.

Raijin growled and snapped, wanting to dance thunder and lightning across the sky, but the seals held and the rain stayed just that. 

It was hard for Sokaku to avoid the taste of failure in the back of his throat. The Jin Scrolls had been destroyed and there was nothing more he could do for the possessed children. The great shura that had lain over this city for decades was banished at last, the minor ones fled, and none of it had been by his hand. He could have at least sealed the shura in the form of the naked man. The red capped one had quieted after the great shura had fallen, but the other's thoughts were as wild as ever. It would be trouble for sure...

It gave Sokaku no joy to leave the matter to the Shiranui, as fallen as that clan was, but he didn't seem to have a choice. He had mistaken the times, and it was not yet right for the era to change and the Mochizuki to take their rightful place. Regretful. So very regretful. 

But that was their fate. The times would change when they would, perhaps even when the Shiranui failed to quell the underwear shura. Until then, Sokaku had a home to return to. If Doushi lived he must have returned from his hunt by now, and Sokaku was not so devoted to duty that he wasn't looking forward to hearing his son's story. There were acolytes to train, and the temple needed upkeep, and no matter how much he denied it his knees ached terribly. It would be good to be home again.

The rain stopped when Sokaku found his ship, and the sun broke through as he walked up the gangplank. By the time he was watching Southtown recede from the deck, the only remnants of the furious downpour were a few light, puffy clouds in a bright blue sky. 

Sokaku bowed his head and chanted a prayer for the continued peace of the city. There would be more monsters. There always were. But for right now, the storm had passed.


	7. Evening Glow

_May 1997_

The body flew through the nightclub doors, spilling garish light across the battered sidewalk. It skidded, rolled, and finally came to a stop, outlined in bright neon. A faint groan rose up, but the owner of the body didn't seem at all interested in moving.

"-and _stay out_, ya lousy drunk!" The ejector snarled and slammed the door shut. He turned to the rest of the club, dancers, drinkers, and daredevils, watching them all with wild, eager eyes. "Any of the rest of ya wanna make trouble?" 

The club members looked at each other, at the long stick that had so recently flung one of their number outside, and collectively decided to get back to dancing their troubles away. 

"That's right everyone, just keep cool and don't tease our watchdog! He's lean, mean, and vicious as they come...unless you got the right sort of rhythm!" The DJ's voice blared out above the music, and there was a distinct wink at the end. "Now hold on and listen good, because we have some all new tunes coming your way! That's right, here we have the latest..."

The guard snorted to himself and lit a cigarette off the end of his pole. The tip glowed cherry red in the smoky haze as he settled himself back into position under the brilliant lights and flashing screens.


	8. Descending Geese

_June 1995_

The railing snapped, and Geese fell.

It hadn't been enough. He'd known that as soon as his heart had started to stutter with the weight of years of alcohol and cocaine. Putting everything into one final blow didn't change the facts: even after training every day for three years, Geese didn't have what it took to defeat Terry when the man was at the top of his form.

The knowledge was less bitter than he had expected.

It had been a wonderful fight against a man who hated him beyond all reason. It had been a long time since Geese had had so much fun. He could take that final, glorious battle to the grave with no regrets.

"Geese!"

A hand closed around his wrist, and Geese's arm was nearly wrenched from its socket. 

The pain wasn't as bad as the look in Terry's eyes.

The eyes that should've been filled with furious hatred held only pity and sorrow.

Just like Jeff. Right up to the very moment of his death he always the same expression, as if Geese was still his brother, as if the decades could be erased, as if Geese had any need for that _weakness_ when all of Southtown crawled at his feet.

Terry grit his teeth and began to pull Geese back up to safety. 

No.

_Never._

Geese lived by his own strength. Not by pity. Not by the mercy of his greatest enemy.

There was only one way to hurt a man like that.

"Goodbye."

**Author's Note:**

> ...so basically back in the [Song Dynasty people started making sets of eight standard views of a province in China](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eight_Views) and that spread out and got redone for other landscapes, [then got parodied](https://www.behance.net/gallery/4807191/The-Eight-Views-of-Omi-and-its-Parodies), and now I've written this thing. I got the idea (and the translations) from [this guy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9_-fT3p5QRw), blame him.
> 
> Yes, it was all for that absolutely awful pun. Sorry. But if we, as a fandom, cannot join together in making fun of Geese Howard's name, _why are we even here?_


End file.
